


Shoebox Menagerie

by the_deep_magic



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Awkward First Times, F/M, Masturbation, Non-Penetrative Sex Toys, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-11
Updated: 2013-08-11
Packaged: 2017-12-23 02:58:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/921192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_deep_magic/pseuds/the_deep_magic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles’ research has let him down.  Seems what he needs is a more hands-<i>off</i> approach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shoebox Menagerie

**Author's Note:**

> For the “voyeurism” square on my Kink Bingo card. And also because I just wanted some angst-free Erica appreciation.

“Stiles.  Stiles, _stop_.”

Stiles pulls away somewhat reluctantly, but he’s also silently relieved to have the opportunity to pop his stiff jaw.  “You okay?”  All right, so his tongue is a little bit numb, too.

Erica sighs and pushes up on her elbows, looking down her body at him.  “I’m fine.  It’s just… it’s not happening.”

Stiles’ heart sinks.  “Are you sure you want me to stop?  Because I can keep going.  I don’t mind.”

“Just get back up here.”

Stiles wipes his chin with the back of his hand, wondering where it all went wrong.  They’d had a _plan_ for losing their virginity together – Stiles knew he wasn’t going to last more than a minute inside Erica, and he knew most girls couldn’t come just from penetration, let alone thirty awkward, flailing seconds of it.   He’d been determined to make her come afterward, though, and he used every tip and trick he’d picked up from hours of scouring the internet (and, okay, that one issue of _Cosmo_ ): working her up first with soft kisses and bites on her inner thighs, teasing her with his tongue, tracing the letters of the alphabet (three times each, with some Greek letters thrown in, too) against her cunt, then giving her a steady rhythm and pressure around her clit.

She had started out moaning and tugging at his hair.   Obviously, that stopped some time ago, and Stiles is mortified that he doesn’t know precisely when.  He’d been so focused on what his lips and tongue were doing.  He crawls back up the bed to lie next to her and buries his face in the pillow.  “I’m sorry,” he groans.  If he can’t even get _this_ right, how is he ever going to wow her with the advanced g-spot stuff?

She promptly cuffs him upside the back of the head – not hard enough to hurt, but enough to get him to look at her.  “Don’t you dare apologize, Stilinski.  That was a successful deflowering.”

Stiles groans again, vividly remembering how fucking _good_ it felt to bury himself inside the heat of Erica’s body, coming with her nails digging into his shoulders.  He wanted nothing more than to give her that in return – two, maybe three times, if possible.  He is going to write one very fucking angry letter to _Cosmo_.  “But you didn’t— I couldn’t—”

“It’s not always about you,” she snaps.  Then, much softer: “I can’t always, not even on my own.  Most of the time I need a vibrator.  I probably should have told you that.  I guess I was just hoping…”

She trails off, her eyes not quite meeting Stiles’, and she looks so vulnerable that he slides closer to her, hopes she’ll let him hold her for a little while.  He brushes his knuckles against her cheek.  “I just wanted to make it good for you.”

Her eyes snap up to meet his again, and his heart lifts when she smirks a little.  “It didn’t feel _bad_.  Trust me, I would have let you know.”  Her eyes flash gold for a second, and they’re now at the point where it turns Stiles on instead of giving him the urge to duck and cover.  “We’ll just… work on it.”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, finally able to relax into a lazy grin.  “Whenever you want.”  He goes to kiss her, tries to make it soft and gentle but she holds him firmly by the back of the neck and then there are teeth and tongues involved.

It’s awesome

&&&

He should really probably wait for a more appropriate time, but it’s not like “Erica” and “appropriate” are best buddies – or even passing acquaintances – so he meets her at her locker just after the final bell.

“So I’ve been thinking,” he starts, wondering why he even tries to sound casual when Erica can hear his racing heartbeat, smell his nervous sweat.

“I’m shocked,” she deadpans, shutting her locker and turning to face him.  Even in her monster heels, she’s nowhere near his height, but he still never feels like he’s looking down at her.  She’s always right there in his face, vibrant and self-assured and _squeezed_ into that minidress, holy god, she’s gorgeous.

And staring at Stiles expectantly.  Right.  “I was thinking that maybe you could… show me.”

She narrows her eyes at him, and he has to stuff his hands in his pockets to keep from explaining himself with gestures that would probably earn him a detention.  “Show me what you like.  How you get yourself off.”

Down the hallway, someone has a horrendous coughing fit, and oh, sweet, it’s Jackson.  Perv shouldn’t have been listening in anyway.  Stiles grins at him over Erica’s shoulder and gives him a salute.

Meanwhile, Erica’s still staring at him like she can’t decide whether or not he’s serious.  Whether or not she _wants_ him to be serious, maybe.  She’s silent so long that he starts to freak out a little.  Maybe it was too much to ask, maybe school really wasn’t the place, maybe she’s decided that he isn’t worth it and wants to find someone better, with more experience, who can give her orgasms by the dozens until she passes out.

“Okay.”

Stiles is so deep in his head he almost misses it.  “Okay?”

“Yeah.  My house, 7 o’clock.  Come in through the window.”

&&&

He’s sitting on her bed when she goes for the closet, digging out a shoebox from a pile of about twenty.  They all look the same to Stiles, but Erica finds the one she’s looking for easily and brings it with her to the bed.  Stiles can’t help his curiosity and has to sit on his hands to keep from reaching for it.  Erica quirks an eyebrow at him.

“I am trying very hard to respect your personal boundaries,” he says.  It pains him to get the next words out.  “I won’t look at what’s in the box unless you want me to.”

Erica smirks.  “Please, I wouldn’t have gotten it out otherwise.  One, you’re going to burst a blood vessel if I don’t show you, and two, I know you’ve got a box just like this under your bed.”

“It’s an Avengers lunchbox, but you’re welcome to look in it any time.”  His curiosity extends in several directions, okay, and there are some things he just can’t manage with his fingers.

She sets the box on the bed and pulls the lid off, and he leans over to check its contents.  Some condoms and lube, but more impressive is the collection of what Stiles assumes are vibrators of various colors and intriguing shapes.  He’s determined not to touch, but he sees a plain, cheap-looking black one in among the rest, interesting only in the sense that it doesn’t look interesting at all… until he turns it over and sees the Batman logo near the base.

His mouth drops open, but he doesn’t get to say a word before Erica’s snatching it out of his hand.  “Shut up.  It was, like, $8 at Spencer’s and I thought it was funny.  It’s actually a terrible vibrator.  Shut up.”

“I am reading absolutely nothing into that,” Stiles lies through a grin.

“Good,” she snaps, but then slithers out of her dress easily, like she knows it’s going to wipe Stiles’ mind blank.  It works.

She’s wearing a shiny teal bra and a pair of purple cotton panties, and Stiles couldn’t say why, but he kind of loves that they don’t match.  After the bite, she took ownership of her body and there’s nothing sexier than that, but she’s not really the wicked seductress she likes to play.  She likes the attention after so many years of being ignored or mocked – Stiles can’t blame her; if he had a body like that, he’d show it off, too – but she’s finally starting to let her guard down around him.

Right now, for example, she’s not trying to cover herself, but when she crawls onto the bed to slink up next to Stiles, there’s a bit of nervousness in her expression.  She kisses him briefly, little more than a bite to his lower lip, and says, “All right, Stilinski, if I’m going to be naked, you’ve at least got to take the shirts off.”

Okay, communication.  Communication is good – he’s pretty sure his sources aren’t lying about that.  Still, he gets tangled up in his haste to take off three layers at once and she laughs, helping him pull the stubborn clothes over his head.  Once they’re gone, she pushes him down on the bed, gives him a real kiss this time.  Her blonde curls fall around his face like a curtain and it’s unexpectedly intimate.  He tries to be careful with his hands, sliding them down her bare sides to curl around her waist.  He doesn’t want to stop there, wants to keep touching everywhere she’ll let him, but that’ll probably just lead to more frustration if they don’t slow it down.  Also, Stiles _really_ wants to watch.

Erica feels him hesitate and pulls back a little, the ends of her hair tickling his chest.  “You still want a show?”

“Hell yeah.  I can totally return the favor later.”

She snorts and bends down to nip lightly at his chin before pushing up to sit.  “How do you want me to do this?”

“However you usually do.  Just pretend I’m not here.”

“I want you to take a moment to think about how creepy that sounds,” she says, looking stern, but she’s already reaching around to unclasp her bra and shimmying out of her underwear.  As she stacks a couple of pillows up by the headboard and lies back on the bed, Stiles tries to figure out the best vantage point to see the action.  He settles on his knees at her side, right next to her hips.

She’s staring at him, expression unreadable, and that’s when he realizes what he’s asking of her, how vulnerable he wants her to be.  He meant it when he offered to return the favor, but when he really thinks about himself in her place, he’d be nervous as hell.  He takes her hand, kisses her palm.  “You still good with this?”

She nods, biting her lip.  “Yeah, it’s just… weird.  I feel like it shouldn’t be, because we’ve already seen each other naked and done a hell of a lot more than this, but it’s still…”

“Weird,” he finishes for her.  “I get it.  But this is seriously amazing, like I can’t even tell you.  You’re so beautiful.  And I want to know how to touch you.  I really, really want that.”

She nods, looking more confident.  She spreads her legs a little, draping one of them across Stiles’ lap and placing his hand down on her thigh.  “Keep it there.  I _want_ to remember you’re still here.”

That makes him smile as she closes her eyes and relaxes, taking a few deep breaths.  He wonders if she can smell him, if that turns her on, but he keeps silent.  That’s going to be the toughest part, he realizes as she lets her hands drift up her torso to cup her breasts.  She plays with her nipples, flicking them lightly to tease herself before pinching them.  It looks like she’s being rougher with herself than Stiles had been and he makes a mental note, because the sensation makes her breath hitch and her back arch a little off the bed.

When she’s done with her nipples, she slides her hands down, palms flat and fingers spread, until she’s rubbing her inner thighs.  It makes her legs fall open a little further and her hand brush against Stiles’.  He doesn’t know if he’s meant to participate at all, but he can’t help stroking the small patch of skin under his thumb.  Distantly, he knows he’s getting hard, but it’s no distraction from the sight in front of him.

Soon, her hands zero in between her legs and she spreads her outer lips with her fingers.  Maybe it’s for Stiles’ viewing benefit, but she seems to like it, too, using just the tip of a finger on her other hand to trace around her cunt.  She’s already starting to get wet, he can see, and it’s so, so hard not to be greedy and touch.  But she’s going slowly, rubbing two fingers over her opening.  She hasn’t even touched her clit yet.  She circles around it first, and he wonders for a moment if she’s teasing him, really is trying to give him a show, but one look at her face lets him know that she’s completely focused on herself.  It’s unbelievably hot.

When she finally does brush over her clit, she makes a soft sound that’s not quite a sigh or a moan, but somewhere in between.  Her hips twitch with the sound and Stiles squeezes her thigh gently.  She dips down to wet two fingers before bringing them back up to rub either side of her clit.  Stiles doesn’t need werewolf senses to hear her breathing speed up, though he is a little surprised he can hear it over the rush of his own blood.

After a minute or so, her other hand drops between her legs and she pushes two slim fingers into herself.  She thrusts them shallowly for a little while, but then seems to abandon that to concentrate on her clit, which she’s now stroking in steady circles, pausing every now and then to focus on one spot on the left side.   Stiles wishes he had a photographic memory, or that he could at least take notes, because he keeps getting lost in the way her muscles tense and relax, the soft intakes of breath and small twitches of her stomach and thighs as she pleasures herself.

Stiles doesn’t know how long it’s been, but eventually he feels her start to tense up more and more, but her lips are drawn in a tight line and she’s radiating frustration.  He rubs his thumb against her thigh again, wondering if there’s something he can say or do – but he sure as hell wasn’t helping last time, so he stays still, keeps quiet, vicariously aches with the tension in her body.

Finally Erica sighs and goes limp all at once, but there’s no satisfaction in it.  Before Stiles can even attempt to say anything, she’s reaching for the shoebox still sitting on the bed, pulling out a bottle of lube and a bullet vibe covered in a blue sheath shaped like a little dolphin.  She looks up at him briefly, cheeks flushed with arousal or embarrassment, he can’t say.  “I need…”

“Yeah, _yeah_ ” is all Stiles can manage, because the thought of Erica using that on herself?  So fucking hot that Stiles can’t quite wrap his mind around it.  He doesn’t know if she wants him to participate at all, but he has to ask.  He puts his hand over hers, the one holding the lube.  “Can I?  Just my fingers inside.  I just… I want to know what it feels like.”

To his surprise, she lifts her leg over his head (holy shit, she’s so flexible, when they finally figure this sex thing out, it is going to be fucking _insane_ ) and hooks it around his back, tugging until he’s kneeling between her thighs.  After pouring some lube on her own fingers, she hands the bottle to Stiles.  He uses far too much, but she’s still so tight around his fingers when he carefully slides them in.  He feels like he’s going to faint when she works her hips against them a little before settling back down, flipping the vibe on.

Once again, she doesn’t go right for her clit, teasing around it first, even running it around the soft, sensitive flesh where her opening meets Stiles’ fingers.  The feeling of it makes Stiles let out a little moan, and he looks up to see Erica grinning down at him before closing her eyes again.

When she finally sets the vibrator against her clit, a jolt runs down her entire body and she clenches around Stiles’ fingers.  He whimpers, and there’s no way he’s getting through this without being louder than she is.  But if she’s paying him any attention, she’s sure as hell not showing it now.

Her hips shift a little, not enough to fuck herself on Stiles’ fingers, but enough to change the pressure of the vibe without moving her hand.  She’s not rubbing herself with the vibe like she did with her fingers, Stiles notes; when she finds a good spot, she stays there, and Stiles is fascinated with the way she alternately clenches and pushes out around his fingers.  Both seem to be signs of good things.

She doesn’t make much noise, save for the occasional sigh, but her body is expressive enough to tell Stiles what he needs to know.  The twitches in her stomach and legs get more pronounced, but Stiles bites back hard on a laugh because he’s pretty sure his O-face is at least ten times as ridiculous, and anyway Erica’s expression is un-self-consciously gorgeous.  Her mouth has fallen open and her brow is starting to furrow, but it doesn’t look like frustration anymore; it looks like she’s found something good and is chasing it now, only a matter of time before she gets it.

The muscles in her stomach start to tighten and her hips curl up slightly.  Stiles knows she’s close, but she gives a full-body shiver and cries out a good half-second before her cunt starts to clamp hard and rhythmically around his fingers and this is it – Stiles is feeling a woman orgasm and porn can go fuck itself, because he can see and hear and _feel_ how fake that all was.  This is real and it’s _devastating_ , and Stiles is going to learn how to do this for Erica if it takes his fingers, his tongue, and every damn thing in that shoebox.

She keeps the dolphin ( _lucky little bastard_ ) pressed gently against her clit even as her body relaxes and she only occasionally spasms around his fingers in what Stiles guesses is aftershock.  Eventually, she switches it off and lets her hand flop down by her side, a long sigh on her lips and a delicious sheen of sweat between her breasts.  Stiles gently pulls his fingers out of her and would totally lick them clean if it weren’t for the lube.

She grins wordlessly, her breath still coming in a little fast, and pulls a washcloth out of the shoebox to wipe the lube off her fingers before tossing it to Stiles to do the same.

He crawls up next to her, fully intending to tell her just how beautiful she is, how grateful he is that she let him see this part of her, how hard he’s going to try to get it right next time.  But before he can say a word, she yanks him bodily against her and kisses him deep and filthy.  She doesn’t even try to undo his fly, just gropes the length of his erection through his jeans and boxers like she knows exactly how far gone he is until he’s coming without any warning at all, but with a truly embarrassing, high-pitched noise.

“Um.  Oops,” he says, when he can say anything at all.

She laughs softly, almost a giggle – though the day he hears her _truly_ giggle will be the day Derek takes up juggling and joins the circus – and kisses the tip of his nose.  “Don’t be embarrassed.  I could smell how hot you were for me.  I’m flattered.”

“And I’m sticky,” Stiles says.  Okay, now he needs to Google _sexy pillow talk_ because that was not it.

“Just take your boxers off, clean up, and go commando,” she says, a little too matter-of-factly.

“You, uh, given that a lot of thought, have you?” Stiles says, a goofy grin threatening to take over his face.  “Just me and my jeans?  Easy access?”

She snorts and gives him a shove.  “I’m not always thinking about your dick, Stilinski.”  Before he can think up a comeback, she smiles wickedly and whispers, “Some of the time I’m thinking about your mouth.”

&&&

This time Erica’s riding him, her hands planted on his chest while she controls the speed and the depth.  He’d jerked off for her first, but now he’s back to being rock hard and he is _not_ getting off again until she does. 

This time it’s a purple butterfly, ribbed along the center, and it buzzes in his fingers as he holds it steady between their bodies so she can grind on it whenever she sinks down.  She’s making unbearably hot little grunting noises on each grind, and Stiles can feel the tips of her claws start to push out against his skin.

After a few more thrusts, she rocks down and holds, murmuring his name as her head tips back and she starts to shiver. 

He grins.


End file.
